One More Night

ONE MORE NIGHT

by

Blanche Marriott

Copyright 2013 by Blanche Marriott

Smashwords Edition

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

LICENSE NOTES

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you as part of an authorized lending program, please delete it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

DEDICATION

To Lyn Stanzione, whose help with this book meant the world to me.

A friend, a reader, and an awesome cover designer. I can’t thank you enough.

You deserve all the good things life has to offer, and you will get them.

Cover by www.stanzalonedesign.weebly.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

About the Author

Books by Blanche Marriott

Excerpt – His Brother’s Baby

CHAPTER ONE

Celeste, he’s here, now! Hurry, or you’ll miss him. The phone line nearly crackled from the excitement in the old lady’s voice.

Aunt Clara, I’m in the middle of an appointment. Can it wait? Celeste smiled and raised an apologetic shrug to the man frowning back at her from the other side of her desk. She’d have to work hard to win over her new client after this disruptive phone call magnified his unease.

No! Suppose he gets away? This might be our only chance to talk to him. I’ve read the cards. They say now is the time.

Oh, Lord, not the cards again. As if they hadn’t already caused enough trouble over the years. Unfortunately, they were usually right. Or rather, Aunt Clara was right.

Okay, Auntie, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Now don’t do anything foolish. Just stay put until I get there.

***

The bright red FOR SALE sign stood like a bold insult in front of the old one-story house with brown weathered shingles that had seen better days. Celeste Jordan noted the realtor’s familiar name, probably the only realtor in the tiny tight-knit community of Ashaway. A few dried, crimson leaves clustered around the post as though clinging, like the remains of summer, to the memories of the man who never would have dreamed of selling his house.

Celeste parked her car in the narrow gravel driveway then slid out, smoothing down the wrinkles from her skirt. She walked the broken cement path that led to the lopsided wooden porch on the side, careful not to catch her high heels in a crevice while her mind rehearsed how she’d open the conversation.

But before she placed a foot on the bottom step, the sound of a car caught her attention and she turned. A taxi, most unusual in these parts of rural Rhode Island, had pulled into the driveway and idled as its passenger gathered his things and paid the fare. Even more unusual was the passenger himself.

A cowboy?

It was the first thing that came to mind when she saw the tall stranger with the scuffed and battered hat. Not so much a cowboy hat, more like an Indiana Jones hat. His western shirt, visible beneath the open suede jacket, had inched its way out of his low-riding, faded jeans as he hefted a duffel bag over his shoulder. His brown boots thudded heavily up the walk.

Almost as heavy as the stern look he aimed at her in his slow approach.

Mr. Foster?

He continued toward her, his look hard, but questioning. Do I know you?

Not really. My aunt lives next door. She told me you were here and asked that I come speak to you on her behalf.

He stopped abruptly, his right boot bumping the toe of her left shoe as though it were a challenge, but she held her ground. He tipped his head back, allowing the late afternoon light to shine under the brim of his hat and into his smoky gray eyes. She noticed the odd color right away. That was her job, to notice the physical, and she was always on the job, always observing, sizing up, calculating. No detail escaped her keen professional eye.

Apparently nothing escaped his either, since he took the liberty of scanning her from head to foot and back. No telltale expression showed on his tanned face but a glimmer of annoyance flickered across his eyes.

Your aunt said I was here? His gaze drifted to the house next door across the large expanse of patchy lawn.

Yes, she called me at work. We’ve been trying to reach you for some--

Whoa, whoa. From the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder, he wiggled his free fingers to halt her explanation. "Your aunt said I was here?"

Yes, I told you she called me. We’ve written to you--

But I just got here.

I know, that’s why she called. Celeste bit back a lump of impatience and moved her foot away from his boot. Bad enough she’d rushed her client--who seemed less than confident she could clean up his image--out of her office and raced down here from Providence. Now she had to deal with a dim-witted cowboy, or whatever he was, whose overpowering presence made her feel like she was an intrusion.

"Lady, I just got off several long, bumpy flights from New Mexico and maybe my brain is a bit rattled, but the last time I checked a person didn’t arrive someplace until they actually arrived, if you catch my meaning. And as you yourself witnessed, I just arrived."

Celeste was about to barge forward with her pitch when the full meaning of his drawn-out observation hit her. She’d been so busy concentrating on what to say to this phantom letter recipient, she hadn’t realized that Aunt Clara had been up to some old tricks.

More precisely, she’d ignored the warning flags that had gone up in the back of her mind.

Yes, well, be that as it may, I’d still--

Be that as it may? Do people really talk like that around here?

His mocking gaze took another slow inventory from the bottom of her navy blue heels, up her smart navy blue suit and white silk blouse, to the top of her hair neatly combed into place just before she’d gotten out of her car. A good image was everything.

She straightened her back. As I was saying, I’ve written to you several times...

With a slight shake of his head, he skirted around her and clomped up the porch steps, dropping his bag near the door.

Jordan, right?

A tingle ran up her spine hearing her name on his tongue. Smooth, mellow, and with just a hint of a western drawl.

Yes, Celeste Jordan. My aunt is Clara Michaels, next door.

Right. From his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and decided on the right one while shouldering the screen door.

So, you did receive my letters?

He unlocked the door and grunted, Yup, then shoved the duffel bag inside. With an insolent slam, the screen door severed their conversation.

Flabbergasted, Celeste stiffened, uncertain whether to knock, wait or leave altogether. No, leaving was out of the question. She’d promised Aunt Clara. But if she didn’t leave, what did the uncivilized brute expect her to do, just yell through the door like a country bumpkin?

As she raised her hand to knock politely, the sound of his approaching boots stopped her. She held her breath until his disgruntled face appeared at the screen and the door squeaked open a notch.

Are you coming in?

The exasperation in his voice grated against her practiced patience. If it weren’t for Aunt Clara, she’d have been out of there five minutes ago.

Yes, thank you.

She entered what looked like a pantry. Shelves everywhere were stocked with canned goods and supplies, and old jackets hung from pegs at odd angles near the door. Celeste tucked her elbows close to her ribs as she passed. Who knew how long the jackets had been there, unwashed?

She stepped up from the entry into the kitchen. It too was cluttered, but a lived in kind of clutter. Canisters, small containers, cooking utensils. Everything sat out on the counter ready for use, as though Pap Wilson was still there.

Mr. Foster--

Do you think you could call me Rock? He pulled a bottle of aspirin from a cabinet. I have a miserable headache, my stomach’s churning like a washing machine and my ears are still popping from the flight. Hearing you call me Mr. Foster is just more than I can handle right now. He turned to the sink. Excuse me.

Celeste relaxed a bit. So maybe he wasn’t so much rude as just travel weary. She sympathized with that feeling after all the business trips she’d been on.

He filled a glass from the faucet, popped a couple of tablets in his mouth and washed them down with a loud gulp. Celeste shivered. Tap water. How barbaric.

Now, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll give you my full attention, for what it’s worth right now.

She gave the wooden chair beside the scarred table an apprehensive glance, unable to bring herself to sit in it. Pap had been dead for several months now. Who knew how long before that since the place had been cleaned?

Oh, for God’s sake... Rock mumbled as he got up, grabbed an old towel off the rack near the sink, and wiped down the chair. There. Now sit. He sank into the chair on the other side of the small table and waited for her to do the same.

She cleared her throat. Yes, well, if you read my letters, you’ll know why I’m here.

I never said I read them, he replied flatly. Humor me and tell me what this is all about.

She sighed. My aunt lived here next door to Pap Wilson for over forty years. Not only were they friends, they had a mutual respect for one another. Or should I say, for one another’s lifestyle. You see, Aunt Clara is a bit eccentric, but totally charming. Frankly, I think she and Pap would have made a lovely couple.

Pap was a loner. He liked the freedom of coming and going as he pleased. No rules. I don’t think he ever considered settling down with anyone.

I know. Aunt Clara is somewhat like that too. At any rate, they liked each other as neighbors and Aunt Clara admired the gems that Pap discovered in his quarry out back. After his death last February, she became concerned about what would happen to his collection. She’d like to make an offer to buy them before the estate is sold. We got your name from the real estate agent who said you are the sole beneficiary of Pap’s will.

Hmmm. He leaned back and indulged in a lazy once-over. This could be a problem.

Celeste shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. Heavy lids blinked slowly over mischievous gray eyes and something fluttered in her stomach. She knew an appreciative look when she saw one but she cautioned herself not to react to it. This was strictly a business offer.

You are the beneficiary, aren’t you?

He rubbed his raspy chin. Oh, yeah, I’m the beneficiary all right.

Then will you consider my aunt’s offer? It would mean a great deal to her.

The problem is, the gems mean a lot to me, too.

He stood up and wearily removed his suede jacket as though the distraction would give him more time to think. Celeste watched with more than a little interest as he took the time to hang the coat on the back of his chair. Snug jeans sculpted his firm bottom. His form-fitting western shirt seemed to ripple with every move of his muscular body, a thickened mature physique yet there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Fit, sexy and earthy.

Definitely not her type.

When he sat and faced her again, she quickly returned her attention to his face. "I see. Perhaps we could come to some kind of agreement. I’m sure I could convince my aunt she doesn’t need to have all the gems."

Hmmm.

Celeste gritted her teeth. His monosyllabic answer was less than encouraging, but she couldn’t resist the urge to get more information. An occupational hazard.

Would you mind if I ask you something?

He cocked a light brown eyebrow. What if I said yes?

She jutted her chin forward. Then I wouldn’t ask.

Hah! He laughed out loud and smiled for the first time, deepening the lines around his mouth, softening his features. Somehow I doubt that, but go ahead, ask.

She bristled at the insinuation that he already had her pegged, but she went on anyway. How did someone from New Mexico inherit everything from Pap Wilson? I mean, as far as we knew, he had no family and he rarely left Ashaway, let alone Rhode Island. Are you a distant relative?

Rock sat forward, his elbows on the table. He rubbed his big, rough looking hands up and down his face, taking in a large, thoughtful breath. Finally, he rested his hands on the table and studied them.

Pap was my mentor. When I was a very young boy he introduced me to his world of gems. He taught me everything I know, or at least the basics.

Oh, so you lived around h--wait a minute. Foster? She tapped her temple, trying to bring a niggling memory to the forefront. Something’s familiar...I’m trying to remember...there was another name. Foster...Earl. Little Earl Foster! The kid who hung around Pap while he dug. Was that you? From the wince on his tired face she knew the answer.

Yeah, that was me.

With that admission, the ill-mannered outdoorsman didn’t seem quite so threatening anymore. Little Earl, oh my God. I remember Pap talking about you all the time when we were kids. Aunt Clara had us over often in the summer for cookouts and she’d invite Pap. He talked about you like you were the Savior reborn. Little Earl, she sighed. Isn’t it a small world?

Yeah, small. Could you please call me Rock?

Amused by his obvious discomfort, she couldn’t resist. But Earl is a nice name. Much more mature for a man your age.

What’s age got to do with it? He got up. Don’t matter how old I am, I prefer Rock.

Impatiently, he lifted the dusty looking brown hat with the black leather band from his head and hung it on a peg behind Celeste. She scooted her chair to avoid touching the grungy apparel.

If you and Pap were so close, why haven’t you come till now, I mean you weren’t at the funeral service, not that I remember. And she definitely would have remembered him.

He leaned against the wall, staring straight at her with heavy lidded eyes. I only learned of his death two months later when his lawyer called me. I’d visited Pap just after Christmas and he seemed in good health. But I guess you never know. He scratched the back of his neck. Anyway, the lawyer contacted the realtor on my behalf and now I’m here to try to wrap things up.

Oh. Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. I didn’t mean to pry or to imply disinterest on your part.

He pushed off the wall and waved a hand. No offense taken. Now if I’ve answered your questions, I’d like to get some rest and get rid of this headache. I’ve had a very unpleasant day, present company excepted. I promise I’ll consider your offer.

Taking the hint, she got up and smoothed down her skirt. His eyes followed the movement with obvious interest.

Thank you, I would appreciate that. How long will you be here?

Don’t know yet. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up and then there’s--

Yoo-hoo! Knock, knock, knock. Anybody home?

Celeste rolled her eyes. Aunt Clara. She just couldn’t stay put. As the screen door opened, Celeste caught Rock throwing his head back and rolling his eyes too. Well, he had to meet her sooner or later.

Aunt Clara, I told you I’d be by as soon as I was finished.

Like the early September air, she breezed in all sunny and bright in her pink and green caftan and spiky red hair.

I know, I just couldn’t stand the suspense. I wanted to meet the handsome young man who was holding you hostage over here. She walked right up to Rock, all five-feet-one of her, and stuck a hand, jangling with colorful bracelets, right into his. Hello, I’m Clara Michaels, Celeste’s aunt. You can call me Aunt Clara, everybody does.

Rock shook the hand apprehensively, but as soon as he did, he seemed to relax. His expression smoothed, his body wasn’t so rigid. He gazed fondly into Aunt Clara’s eyes and smiled with a slight nod.

Pleased to meet you, Clara Michaels, Celeste’s aunt. Celeste laughed to herself as she beheld the latest victim of Aunt Clara’s charm. But I believe we’ve met before.

Aunt Clara frowned then grasped his hand with both of hers. We have? She tilted her head back and studied his eyes intensely. "I have seen those eyes before, and your touch is familiar, but... She patted his hand several times. I don’t know, the mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be."

Unable to resist the upper hand, Celeste interjected, Aunt Clara, this is Little Earl, Pap’s protégé. Little Earl Foster.

Rock slanted a look at Celeste that she could only interpret as murderous but Aunt Clara was too busy deciphering what had just been said to notice. Finally, one hand went up to her surprised mouth.

No! Oh, my heavens. I don’t believe it. Little Earl. My, how you’ve grown tall.

Rock chuckled. That usually happens to young boys. It’s very nice to see you again, Aunt Clara. Pap always talked highly of you.

Me? You should’ve heard him go on about you. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together. I remember him talking about your move to New Mexico.

That was nearly twenty years ago.

Yes, I remember Pap’s mixed feelings about seeing you go. He said it was like losing a son, but he knew it was the best thing for you.

Rock’s lips tightened. His gaze clouded over. It was.

With her special brand of sunshine, Aunt Clara patted his hand again. Looking at you now, I’d say Pap knew what he was talking about. My, such a handsome young man. Big, strong. She released his hand and nodded toward Celeste. This is my niece, Celeste Jordan.

He laughed. Yes, we’ve met.

Of course, what was I thinking? So, did she make my offer and have you accepted?

Rock nodded solemnly. Yes, she did, and no I haven’t.

What? Aunt Clara appeared shocked that her high-powered, business savvy niece failed her mission. Why not?

I didn’t refuse, I just haven’t accepted. But I’ll tell you what...

He went over to his jacket and removed a small cloth bag. Opening the stringed top, he dumped the contents on the table and Celeste and Aunt Clara gaped at the gems glittering back at them. Why don’t you pick something from this batch for now. After I inspect and inventory Pap’s stash, we’ll talk.

Aunt Clara fingered the crystals, marveling at the colors and shapes, holding several up to the light while gasping at their beauty. Oh, I love this one. She palmed a smooth pink stone about the size of a walnut.

A perfect choice, a rose quartz. It suits you, Rock said.

One particularly slender gem caught Celeste’s eye. She touched it lightly, pushing it away from the pile to study it more closely. And then she felt Rock’s warm breath on her neck. He’d come up behind her as silently as a shadow.

Or maybe she’d just been distracted by the beautiful gems, the slender one in particular, the one she couldn’t take her eyes from.

Go on, take it. His voice, tempting and daring, lowered to almost a whisper.

No, that’s okay.

Why not? I saw you eyeing it. Here, take it. He lifted the crystal, about the size of her small finger, and placed it in her palm.

It was sleek and inviting with smooth surfaces that felt cool, pleasing to the touch. She rubbed her thumb along one long facet and noticed the mark of a cross on one end. A warm sensation traveled through her fingers and she smiled.

It’s lovely. What kind is it?

Smoky Quartz.

Smoky, like his eyes.

He squeezed in beside her and began scooping the gems back into the bag when she asked, What does the cross mean?

He stopped, his gray gaze penetrating hers from barely a foot away. What cross? Thin lines around his eyes hinted he’d spent too many days outdoors, aging the skin prematurely, though he wore it well.

The cross on the end of the crystal. More lines appeared between his brows. It almost sparkles in the light.

He took the quartz from her, turning it over and over. He ran a hand through his sun-streaked brown hair, which hadn’t seen a barber in many months. Again, he aimed his gaze at her then seemed to make a decision.

Nothing, just a mark. He quickly handed the quartz back.

Let me see, said Aunt Clara who’d moved around the pair and took the gem from Celeste as Rock stepped away. She inspected it carefully. Where? I don’t see a cross.

Celeste pointed to the spot, but her attention had followed Rock and his puzzled look.

Well, I still don’t see it. Guess I should’ve brought my glasses with me. Aunt Clara placed it back on the table, smiled at her own gem then turned and thumped Rock’s arm. Now, you finish getting yourself settled, then march that big strong body over to my place for a nice dinner.

No, Aunt Clara, I would really like to just relax and--

Fine. You can relax at my place. And I don’t take no for an answer. I’ve already got a big pot of chicken vegetable soup going and there’s meat loaf and potatoes in the oven. She headed for the door, shuffling her pink canvas shoes with unnecessary slowness. Now I’ll just go whip up a batch of biscuits and we’ll have a nice cozy dinner for three.

Celeste’s eyes opened wide. Aunt Clara, I can’t stay! I have work to catch up on. I left early--

Tsk, tsk. She wagged a crooked finger at her niece. Didn’t I just say I don’t take no for an answer? When Celeste only sighed, Clara nodded with satisfaction. That’s better. Now you two come along as soon as you’re done... she waved a hand, whatever... Her voice drifted off as she left the kitchen and padded out of the house.

CHAPTER TWO

I’m sorry about that, Celeste whispered once Aunt Clara was out the door. She can be a bit overpowering at times.

Yeah, but she does have a certain charm.

I know. I’ve been a victim of that charm for over thir--a long time. She caught the slight twitch on Rock’s lips and couldn’t help but smile at her botched cover up. "Well, I think I’ll go help Aunt Clara with her biscuits. Take your time getting over